


Let Me Try With Pleasured Hands

by CoffeeWithConsequences



Series: Retrouvailles [7]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Coming Out, Developing Relationship, Hockey, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Injury, M/M, Sex, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 23:17:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15083900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeWithConsequences/pseuds/CoffeeWithConsequences
Summary: Jack and Kent come slowly back together. When Kent gets hurt, Jack makes an important decision.This is it! The last installment of myPimms Weekseries! Today's prompt was "seasons promised."





	Let Me Try With Pleasured Hands

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place after [Every Saint Has a Past, Every Sinner Has a Future](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15072371).
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with me, if you've read this whole series! I had an absolute blast writing these and I feel so much more comfortable in the Check, Please! fandom than I did before. Huge thanks to pongpalace and abominableobriens, who organized this great event!

The Aces were on Providence’s schedule early in the season. The pre-season went well--as smoothly as any in Jack’s memory--and their first few games were all wins. He was playing good hockey. The rest of his life was also going well. Slowly, he was re-establishing his relationships with his Samwell friends, damaged as they’d been by the break-up with Bitty. He’d even seen Bitty once, when he came to a pre-season game with the rest of the crew. He hadn’t said much, but he’d smiled. It hurt, but not as badly as Jack expected it would.

Kent and Jack talked a lot, via text and Skype, about meeting each other on the ice again. As they’d agreed, the last two months had been them taking their new friendship very slowly. There were a few more suggestive texts, but once they were both back into their real lives and no longer on vacation, sending them started to feel strange. It was as if they’d been in stasis while Kent was in Jamaica and Jack was in Montreal, and they couldn’t quite get back to it. It was fine, though--they still talked often, sharing the minutia of their days, growing closer again.

Much as he and Kent discussed it, and having talked about it with Kaya as well, Jack was still nervous as he began his pre-game routine on the day the Falconers were facing the Aces. He was certain it wouldn’t be like last time, with he and Kent after each other, playing cruel. He’d gotten a pre-game lecture from his coaches about that already, but it wouldn’t have happened anyway. What he didn’t know was what would happen instead. Given their tentative relationship, how would he and Kent handle each other on the ice?

The Aces came into town late the night before the game, but Jack and Kent agreed not to try to meet up until afterward. Jack was surprised by how much he regretted that decision as the day went on. Normally, he wouldn’t let anything disrupt his careful pre-game routine, but he really wanted to see Kent. He was still having trouble sorting out his feelings about why, and about what he wanted from Kent once he did see him, but the desire was clear, and it was messing with his head a little bit.

Once they took the ice, it all disappeared. They faced off, and Kent smiled. “Good to see you, Zimms.” He didn’t look nervous at all.

“You too, Kenny,” Jack answered automatically.

“Hope you don’t think I’m going to go easy on you just because you like me now.” Jack wasn’t certain, but he thought Kent might actually have winked behind his visor.

“I was actually hoping you’d go hard,” Jack said, blushing as soon as the words left his lips.

Kent grinned wide, and then the puck dropped.

They both played hard and clean. On the occasions that found him on the bench while Kent was still on the ice, Jack couldn’t tear his eyes away. He hadn’t been able to see it clearly before, how good Kent was. Intellectually, he knew Kent’s list of accomplishments, that he was considered the best player in the league, but watching him was a whole other kind of magic.

Jack was jealous--of course he was. He may well have lost his best playing years while he was at Samwell. But he’d done what he needed to do, and his game was improving all the time. The truth was that he might never be the player Kent was. He’d been better than Kent, in the Q, but he might never be again. It hurt to think that, but, like seeing Bitty, it didn’t hurt as much as Jack would have thought.

The game was hard-fought. The Aces were defending a Stanley Cup--they weren’t going to give anything up easily. Their defense wasn’t quite together yet, though, and Jack managed to put the puck in the net twice in the second period. One goal was beautiful, one was just lucky, but they both counted. The Falconers defense was more experienced--they hadn’t lost anybody in the off-season--and they kept a good handle on Kent. The Aces scored once on a power play in the third, but the game ended at 2-1 for Providence.

Jack texted Kent from the boisterous locker room.

_You’re still coming over, right?_

He was mostly-certain the Aces’ loss wouldn’t change Kent’s plans, but he had to check.

The response took a few minutes--Kent was doing press.

_Course._

At home, Jack paced. He knew it was stupid--it wasn’t as if he and Kent hadn’t been talking for weeks--but he wasn’t sure what to do while he was waiting. Finally, he forced himself to sit down with some ice and flip on ESPN.

Kent didn’t take long to arrive, and when he did, he was dressed in regular clothes, but still looked post-game sweaty. “I know,” he said, shaking his head, when Jack gave him a puzzled look. “But two of the showers were broken and I would have had to wait and…” He grinned. “I didn’t want to wait. Can I use your shower?”

Jack grinned back and motioned in the direction of his bathroom. “You hungry?”

“Fuckin’ always.”

While Kent was showering, Jack made a pile of sandwiches. Turkey, cheese, extra mustard, no mayo--the way Kent liked them. He took them, along with two bottles of Gatorade (blue for him, red for Kent) to the couch. ESPN was talking hockey now, and the highlights of the game they’d just played were shown only a minute into the coverage.

“Both teams looked good tonight,” the commentator said. “The Aces have some work to do rebuilding their D, but Parson hasn’t slowed down at all.”

“He just keeps getting better,” the other commenter answered. “He’s the best player in hockey right now, and he knows it.” He paused and made a face as if he’d smelled sour milk. “When Kent Parson came out as gay last year, many of us thought it would be the end of his hockey career. So far, it does not appear to have hurt anything. So far.”

“Jack Zimmermann’s Providence Falconers took one away from the Aces tonight, though,” the first commentator broke in, changing the subject gracelessly. “Two second-period Zimmermann goals!”

Jack knew the second commentator wasn’t exactly in his fan club, so he braced himself for the response.

“I know I’ve been critical of Zimmermann, but you can’t argue with how he’s playing. He had a great year last year and he’s starting off even stronger this season.”

The other commentator finished the segment with: “I’d say it’s a promising season for both Zimmermann and Parson.”

“Promising season, huh?”

Kent was standing behind the sofa, toweling his hair. Jack turned and saw he was wearing only his baggy shorts, barefoot and shirtless, still a little wet from his shower. Jack licked his lips nervously, and Kent followed the motion with his eyes.

“Nice of them to say that I didn’t forget how to put the biscuit in the net after they learned I like dick, huh?” Kent rolled his eyes. “You gonna feed me, or what?” Kent flopped next to Jack on the couch, tossing the towel to the floor. He was such a slob.

Jack pushed the plate of sandwiches toward Kent on the table, then handed him his Gatorade. “You still hate the blue ones?” he asked.

“Can’t stand the blue ones,” Kent confirmed.

They ate in silence, both half-watching ESPN talk about the rest of the league. They focused mostly on shoveling in as many calories as they could, as quickly as they could. It was comfortable, the tension in the air a pleasant sort of underlying electricity.

After they were finished, they looked at each other. Neither of them seemed to know what to say.

“Um,” Jack finally forced out, feeling like it was on him to push whatever was happening forward. “Will you stay?” He hadn’t quite expected to put it that way.

Kent looked at him curiously, tilting his head. “Do you want me to stay?” They should have talked about this before, probably, but they were still learning.

“Yeah.” Jack bit his lips. “If that’s OK with you.”

Kent smiled. “Yeah.”

Jack took the empty sandwich plate to the kitchen, Kent flipped off the TV. The heat between them was growing, they could both feel it, but it wasn’t a rush. In Jack’s bedroom, Kent’s eyes pinned him down as he pulled the t-shirt over his head, then slipped off his shorts. Kent didn’t pretend not to be appraising his body, taking a long, slow look. “You’re beautiful, Zimms.”

Jack smiled, bashful. “No different than I’ve always been.” He knew as he said it that it wasn’t true.

Kent raised his eyebrows and stepped forward, winding his arms around Jack’s waist. “Better than you’ve ever been.” He palmed Jack’s ass shamelessly. “And this is a national fucking treasure. My God.”

“Christ, Kenny,” Jack tried to pull away, squirming with embarrassment, but Kent held him still. He was so strong for someone his size.

“Nah, you’re staying here.” Kent was smiling, relaxed. “Stay here and kiss me.”

They kissed a long time. It was slow and deep, different than any kiss Jack could remember between them. Kent used to bite and gasp, and he probably still would, but that wasn’t this. They explored one another’s mouths carefully, licking each other’s lips, pressing in with tentative tenderness.

Finally, Kent pulled away. Jack’s thumbs were running below the waistband of his shorts, and Kent reached down to pull them off and step out of them. Jack pushed him gently back so that he could look, too.

“You look so good,” he said, knowing it wasn’t enough. He reached a hand out and ran it over Kent’s abs. “I want…”

“You want?” Kent’s face was soft, but his eyes were hot. His half-erection was clear through his underwear.

“I want everything.”

Kent grinned again. “I thought we decided on slow?”

“This was slow enough.” Jack moved forward fast, tackling Kent to the bed and kissing him again through his laughter.

They slowed down again, touching each other all over, relearning the angles and planes, finding the few soft bits on bodies so expertly trained to be hard. Jack ran his tongue over the tattoos Kent kept adding to his arms, stopping to chirp the design choices and being rewarded with a pull to his hair. Kent murmured in French, a language Jack had forgotten they shared, as he slipped down between Jack’s legs and took him into his mouth. They didn’t do anything hard or fast, nothing that could possibly hurt either of them.

“Game tomorrow night,” Kent murmured when Jack’s thumb ran behind his balls. “None of that.”

“Sure,” Jack answered. “Me too.” He reached back for Kent’s cock, running the same thumb up the underside. “This then, eh?”

“Yeah,” Kent agreed, reaching for Jack, moving his face against Jack’s shoulder to kiss. “This.”

They rocked together slowly, each remembering what the other liked, and learning how those preferences had changed. Coming was more a tide than an explosion, building gradually and then spilling gently over. They were still tangled together when they fell asleep.

Kent left early the next morning, catching a plane headed for Toronto. Jack woke to the sound of his phone alarm and pulled the pillow over his head. “Too early.”

Kent laughed as he slipped out of bed. “I remember you as a morning person, Zimms.”

Jack groaned. “I am.”

Kent’s laugh followed him to the bathroom. A few minutes later, he was dressed and ready. He bent down and pulled the pillow off Jack’s face. “Hey,” he said, voice soft. The room glowed with barely-morning half-light. “This was OK, yeah?”

“This was perfect.” Jack sat up, groggy. “I’ll miss you.” It felt strange to say, after missing Kent for years.

“I’ll miss you, too. I’ll text you later.” Kent kissed him quickly. “Play good hockey until I see you again.”

Jack snorted. “I’m gonna play fucking great hockey.”

* * *

Between Christmas and New Years, the Aces played in Boston. Most of the Samwell crowd was at Jack’s, having escaped their various family obligations and decided to hang out for a day or two before their vacations were over. Lardo was between Ransom and Bitty on the couch, Shitty on the floor with his head in her lap. Holster sat in front of Ransom, demanding a shoulder rub. Jack smiled as he took his seat in the armchair. It was good to have them, loud as they were.

At first, it seemed the Bruins defense was just focused on shutting Parse down--smart play, given the scoring run he’d been on. After a few minutes and three consecutive dirty hits, though, it became clear they had another game in mind. Getting up from being nearly run over, with the puck nowhere near him, Parse ripped his helmet off and started yelling at the referee.

“What the fuck is going on?” Shitty muttered. “They have to call that shit!”

The commentators speculated on what was being said on the ice, but carefully talked around the actual issue. The group from Samwell didn’t.

“They’re after him,” Holster said, anger rising in his voice. “This is because he came out.”

Jack was quiet. He didn’t want to believe that was happening, but it absolutely looked that way. Kent said he’d been hearing a lot of homophobic chirping, which he mainly ignored, but he hadn’t been taking too much extra physical abuse so far. The tide appeared to have changed.

Jack glanced at Bitty to find Bitty looking at him, his expression sad. “You OK?” he asked.

Jack nodded. “Yeah. Parse’s tough, he can handle it.” He didn’t sound confident, and he felt even less so.

In the second period, things got much worse. Kent ended up in the box for yelling at the refs, and Swoops followed him in after a retaliatory hit. Jack couldn’t sit still, pacing across the living room as he watched. Shitty and Holster were both yelling obscenities, forgetting, for the evening, that they were Bruins fans. Ransom was adding quieter, scathing commentary, much of it focused on how much less homophobic Canadians were. Jack didn’t actually think that was true, but he didn’t argue. Bitty and Lardo were quiet, watching Jack as much as the game.

Near the end of the second period, Kent went down. Jack didn’t even see the hit until they replayed it, but it was beyond the pale. Kent’s head bounced off the boards, then his shoulder hit the ice. He didn’t get up.

Jack sunk down into his chair, staring at the screen. He couldn’t even hear his friends anymore. The commentators chatted banalities, but Kent didn’t get up. By the time the medics got the stretcher out on the ice, his eyes were opened, but he wasn’t moving.

Jack had his phone out and had begun to look through his contacts before he even thought about what he was doing. Georgia answered on the second ring.

“George? It’s Jack Zimmermann. Can you find out what hospital they’re taking Parse to?”

To her credit, George was only confused for a minute. Jack heard her typing. “Sorry, Jack, I wasn't watching…Jesus Christ, what was that?” She gasped. “That’s one of the worst hits I’ve ever seen.”

“I know. I need...I need to see him. Where would they take him?”

“Mass General,” she answered quickly. “It’s the closest to TD Garden. But Jack…”

“Yeah?”

“If you go rushing in there, the press is gonna ask questions. They’re going to speculate.”

Jack exhaled sharply. “Then let them speculate,” he said. “In fact...let me go see Parse, and then I’m gonna make a statement.” He heard the game commentators in his ear, saying it was too bad Kent’s sexuality was impacting the game. As if this were somehow his fault. “It’s fucking time.”

George was quiet a moment. “Are you sure?” she asked. “You know we’re behind you, Jack, but you can’t take it back once you put it out there.”

Jack looked up. All his friends were quiet, watching him. He met Bitty’s eyes, and Bitty smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m sure.”

“OK,” George said. “Call me when you’re ready. I’ll set it up.”

Jack closed his eyes and took three deep breaths after he put down the phone, then stood. “You can all stay here if you want,” he said. “I’m going to Boston.”

“What can we do, bro?” Shitty stood and wrapped Jack in his arms, hugging him hard. “Anything you need?”

“Just...wait?” Jack asked as they pulled apart. “I’m not sure how this is gonna go.”

Shitty nodded. “‘Course.”

Jack looked at Bitty, who had risen when Shitty did. “I’m...I’m so sorry, Bits.” He knew it wasn’t enough, that it had to be hard for Bitty to watch him do this, make this decision, when he’d never been able to do it while they were together.

“Jack Zimmermann, you have nothing to be apologizin’ for,” Bitty said fiercely. There were tears in his eyes. He all but pushed Shitty out of the way and wrapped his arms tight around Jack’s waist. “Good luck, sweetheart. I’m right here if there’s anything I can do. For you or for Kent.”

Jack looked at him in awe. “You are an amazing human being, Eric Bittle.”

Bitty grinned. “I know. Now go!”

* * *

There was, as George expected, press at the hospital. Jack did his best to ignore them as he moved toward the admissions desk and asked to see Kent. It took awhile, but he was eventually led to a private room. There was a hospital security guard outside the door. He recognized Jack and made a moment’s small talk, but seemed to understand how desperate Jack was to get inside.

Kent was awake, lying shirtless in the hospital bed, a bandage around his head and another around his torso and shoulder. He smiled wanly, clearly drugged. “Zimms! What are you doing here?”

Jack crossed the room in two strides, his hand closing over Kent’s immediately. “I had to make sure you were OK.”

Kent shrugged, then winced at the motion. “Yeah. Concussion’s not so bad.” His mouth fell. “Shoulder’s broken, though.”

Jack sighed. “How long?”

“Six weeks, maybe more.”

“I’m sorry.”

Kent made a face. “Is this where I say it could have been worse?”

“Nah, you don’t need to say that to me.”

There was a silence, then Jack asked, carefully, “was that what it looked like, Kenny?”

“Yeah.” Kent met his eyes. “That was as bad as it’s been.”

Jack frowned. “You said it hasn’t been too rough. Tonight was insane.”

Kent looked down. “I may have underplayed it a little. Tonight was the worst, but it’s been...there’s been a lot of bad hits.”

Blood rushed in Jack’s ears and he breathed hard, tamping down the rage. “You could have told me. That’s what we’re doing now, right? Telling each other the truth?”

Kent nodded. “I know. I didn’t...I didn’t want you to think I was weak.”

“Jesus Christ, Kenny. I just saw you put up a two-period fight against an entire line of assholes twice your size, and you’ve apparently been doing it for months. You’re the first out player in the NHL! I could never think you were weak.” He squeezed Kent’s hand. “You’re one of the bravest people I know.”

Kent squeezed back. “Thanks, Zimms. That means a lot, coming from you.”

They fell into quiet again, and Jack noticed Kent’s eyes were beginning to slide shut. “Are you allowed to go to sleep?” he asked.

“Yeah. Nurses come in every hour and wake me up.” Kent groaned.

“OK. You sleep now, then. I’ll be back by the next time you wake up.”

Kent looked perplexed. “You don’t have to stay.”

Jack fixed him with a scowl. “You don’t really think I’m leaving now, do you?” He shook his head. “You’ve sat in hospitals for me for way, way worse reasons than this one, Parse. I’ll be right back.”

In the hall, Jack looked at his phone. There were a slew of supportive messages from his friends, including Bitty, and a few from his Falconers teammates asking if he’d seen the hit and if he knew if Kent was OK. There was a message from his dad asking the same thing. He answered that one, quickly, adding that his parents might want to flip on the sports news. Then he texted Shitty to say the same thing. Finally, he sent a message to George.

_I’m sorry, I know you had a plan, but this is happening right now._

George answered instantly.

_Do what you need to do, Jack. We’ve got your back._

In the hospital lobby, Jack found the assembled reporters. There were only a few, but news would travel fast. When one spotted him, the questions began:

“Jack, are you here to see Kent Parson?”

“Jack, did you see the game? Were the hits on Parson dirty?”

“Jack, how do you feel about playing in a league with homosexuals?”

That one was good enough. Jack squared his shoulders and faced the reporters, making sure he was being recorded before he started to speak.

“I’ve known Kent Parson for 10 years,” he began. “He was good when we started playing together, and he’s great now. People say Kent is the best player in the NHL, and I wouldn’t argue with that.” He took a breath and continued, letting the words come out without thinking too much about them. “For months, Parse has been fighting two battles every time he gets on the ice--the hockey one we’re all getting paid for, and one against homophobia, that nobody should have to fight. When Parse came out, people said he wasn’t going to be able to play anymore. He’s the leading scorer in the league. Later, they said that he’s some sort of one-off, the one queer guy in hockey.” This was going to be the hard part. Jack set his jaw and looked straight into the closest camera. “That’s not true. I know you can be queer and play great hockey, because my friend Kenny does it. But I also know you can be queer and play great hockey, because I do it. I know it can be done because I have friends doing it in college. I know it can be done because I know retired players who did it for years.” The reporters were yelling questions, but Jack ignored them and continued. “None of us should have to go onto the ice, or into the locker room, or into the world, afraid of being targeted because we’re queer. Kent Parson did a brave thing, telling everybody first, and I’m not going to let him stand alone and take the heat for that. This league owes Kent Parson, and it had damn well better make sure nothing like this ever happens again, to him, or to me, or to anybody else.”

Jack was shaking by the time he finished, but his voice stayed steady. The reporters yelled, but he shook his head and turned away. The security guard from Kent’s room appeared behind him, holding up his hand. “Mr. Zimmermann is a visitor to this hospital, and he won’t be further harassed.”

Jack walked back to Kent’s room, his head up high. It would be hard for Kent to sit out so many weeks, and it would be hard for Jack to face whatever the backlash would be after what he’d just said, but they would do it together, one little step at a time. Despite it all--or maybe because of it--they were having a promising season.

**Author's Note:**

> Please come visit me on [Tumblr](https://coffeewithconsequences.tumblr.com/) or read the rest of my fic here at [Archive of Our Own](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeWithConsequences/works)!


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